Penance
by musefatale
Summary: Snape. Implied Snape/Draco. Repentance is not for the weak... Written in 2007


**Title:** Penance  
**Pairing:** Snape, implied Snape/Draco, implied Snape/Lucius, implied Lucius/Draco  
**Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** Religious imagery, self-flagellation, caning, chan, implied incest,   
**Summary: **Repentance is not for the weak…  
**Notes:** I usually play Snape as being from a Jewish family, but somehow since I've started role-playing him again, he (along with the rest of my characters) has become Catholic. While I can see him being very jaded and cynical, I can also see him being very devoted to his religion to… hence, this was born.

Penance

As he settled into the confessional, the small partition between the two cells slid open. Snape leaned back against the wall behind him, his hands in his lap and his head bowed in silence.

"Yes, my son?" The priest spoke.

It was a familiar, comforting voice; one that Snape had heard daily since he was a boy. He almost felt sorry for the man who had to hear his sins. He knew he should have a one-way ticket to Hell, but hoped beyond faith that God truly did forgive and salvation was within reach.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned." His voice was flat, affective. He hadn't slept well last night. He was plagued with nightmares and his guilt overwhelmed him. As soon as the sun rose, he was out of the house and on his way here. He couldn't spare a moment and refused to risk death without being absolved.

"Tell me your sins…"

Severus stepped out of the house, his robes and mask covered in blood. Walden MacNair stood next to him, a grin spread across his blood-smattered face. It was all Severus could do at that moment not to reach under his robes and pull out his rosary – but he had been forbidden from doing so in the presence of other Death Eaters. Such Muggle sentiments made many of them uncomfortable, and they thought it was a disgusting habit, like smoking, that should be kicked immediately. His palms itched with the desire to touch the cool little beads and the silver cross dangling from them. He could feel the crucifix pressed against his chest, burning into his skin…

The man he had killed, he didn't even know what he had done – only that orders from much higher up the line had been to kill him. It was a revenge killing, Snape knew that much, and that made it even worse. Torture him, make him beg, make him plead for forgiveness – that slit his throat like the vermin he was; that was the order. Without flinching, Snape had done it. He didn't know why, just that he knew if he refused he would be punished, killed even. He needed to be alive, he had things that needed to be done.

He went home, showered, and spend the next three hours reciting the rosary before sleep finally subdued him and he crawled into his bed.

That night, he awoke with his heart pounding in his chest, feeling as though he was going to have a heart attack. Instinctively, he held his hand to his chest, breathing deeply. A sinking, hopeless feeling had washed over him, and he felt as though he was going to cry – even though he hadn't done that in over a decade. There was still and aching hurt in his chest, residual from his dream.

A black mass hovered over him, he couldn't move. There was a fate worse than death itself. It was Hell. It was the eternal separation from salvation. Though his body would still be alive, his soul would be consumed. It was worse than Hell, at least there he could earn his way back into the light. Perhaps it was the end he was destined for; eternal oblivion, eternal separation from everything he had clung so desperately to.

Rising from his bed, Snape walked across the room, the stone floor cold on his bare feet. Even in the darkness, he could find his way across the room to his bookshelves. His hand ran along the spines until he reached one that stuck out just a little bit further than the rest. He tugged at the book, the bookshelf shifting slightly. He pushed forward, the bookshelf giving way under his weight to a small room, eight feet square. On the wall opposite him was a large crucifix, flanked on either side by torches. Just under the crucifix was a black rectangular box.

Snape knelt, crossing himself.

"_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."_ He murmured, lifting the lid of the box.

He pulled a short cat o' nine and a rosary out of the box and closed the lid, pulling it away from the wall so he could kneel. He wrapped the rosary around his right hand, and held the end of the whip in his left. Holding the rosary to his chest, he swung the cat o' nine over his shoulder, the tails stinging his flesh, cutting into his back. He locked his jaw in place and breathed slowly.

"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee._" _He slapped the whip over his left shoulder, the tails digging into his back.

"And I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell._" _The first drops of blood began to roll down his back.

"But most of all because they offend Thee my God," he winced as the leather clung to the open wounds of his back and gave a tug with gritted teeth,

"Who art all-good and deserving of all my love." His body wretched forward with pain and he set his jaw again, trying to push away the stinging behind his eyes. Perhaps all his tears had not dried up just yet.

"I firmly resolve with the hell of Thy grace to confess my sins," the wet slap of bloodied leather and bloodied flesh against each other, the splatter of droplets of blood against the floor, the wall, the crucifix…

"to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen."

His hands shaking and bloody, he dropped the whip to the floor and hunched over, running his thumb along the beads of the rosary. His body ached as he tried to keep his muscles from twitching under the pain. Behind him he heard the soft pattering of feet and felt a presence at the door.

"Sev?" A boy's voice, gentle and soft. The only person who ever showed an emotion close to caring for him, and he was going to Hell for it. "Sev, are you okay?"

Snape nodded. "Will you…" He trailed off, he didn't need to say anymore.

The boy moved from the doorway, presumably to get what Snape hadn't had to ask him for. A moment later, the door eased open again and there was a brush of movement behind him. He leaned his head down, his hair falling down around his face, the ends matted in blood from his back. While he had braced himself, he wasn't prepared for the stinging of cold antiseptic against open wounds. He hissed through his teeth, his chest expanding with the intake of air. He held his breath as the boy behind him cleaned the wounds and bound them.

"Thank you, Draco." He murmured, standing and lifting the lid on the box – replacing the whip and the rosary and sliding the box back into place again. He swallowed and crossed himself as he glanced upon the crucifix.

"Will you come back to bed now?" The boy asked, his voice so young and innocent of any wrongdoing that it send a wave of self-hatred through Snape.

He bit back his disgust at himself. Slowly he turned and followed the boy back out into the bedroom, his back still throbbing in pain within the wetness of the bloodied bandages. He crawled back into bed and lay on his side, one arm under his head and the other draped over his side. Draco crawled into be next to him and snuggled against his chest. As the form next to him fell into the rhythm of sleep, hot tears stung the back of Snape's eyes and slowly welled forward, splashing down his cheeks.

"Why do you not remove this temptation then, my son, if it causes you so much anguish?"

"I can't." Snape murmured, his head slumped. "I…I feel the need to protect him. His father is one of the devil's children. He hurts the boy, in ways I could never had imagined had I not experienced them myself. If I quit, I may die. If I die, I'm not alive to keep him safe. I take his torture for him, so he may maintain his innocence."

"And your thoughts towards this boy, are they pure?"

"No," Snape answered, "but my actions are…"

He stood at the foot of Lucius' bed, his hands braced on either of the two wooden posts that supported the frame. Stark naked, shame flushing his cheeks, he waited for the crack of the can against his backside. He was literally the whipping boy – taking Draco's punishment as his own. He should have been a better influence, a better teacher, just… better. He inhaled as the wood cracked against him again. By this time he was used to the sharp shooting pain inflicted upon him. It was his own guilt that he couldn't handle.

God was punishing him just as much as he or Lucius punished him, if not more so. He didn't know, honestly, if he had the willpower to break away from the life he had made for himself. Would it be harder than this to live alone in seclusion and misery. If he did, he may be closer to God, but he would be further from the people who needed him. He wasn't a martyr, far from it in fact. He was merely doing what he felt was right for him to do – to allow a child a childhood that would have otherwise been ripped from him. Maybe God wasn't punishing him, maybe he was testing him. The easy was would be to break away, to seclude himself. All the more reason for him to stay here and bear the pain. For God. For Draco.

"You should have done better, Severus." His own thought echoed in his ear from the voice of another. "You spoil him, treat him too softly, you should be more stern…"

The cane cracked down again and his knees buckled under the force and splitting pain. He steadied his breathing, kept his expression blank, and refused to give Lucius the pleasure of seeing him wince – though he wanted desperately to cry out at that moment.

"It's your fault if he fails." The voice spoke in his ear again.

He wanted to turn around and punch the man in the face, scream that he was not the boy's father, that it shouldn't be his responsibility! Maybe if Lucius could be a father and not a lecher, his son wouldn't have a problem. He didn't though, he remained in silent defiance, pushing his pride away and taking his punishment. Lucius was right, he had taken the responsibility willingly upon himself, and it was now his responsibility to be father, and to not make the same mistakes that Lucius did as a father.


End file.
